


Stupid Interns

by sofia_estrella



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Original Character-centric, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_estrella/pseuds/sofia_estrella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I, Brielle Schmitt, am in my second year of internship at St. Mungo’s. It seems like every day I have to deal with splinchings, Nazi-like Healers, an insane best friend, and the unrequited love of my life, Teddy Lupin (who’s just graduated from Hogwarts and has no clue what he wants to do with himself—other than live happily-ever-bloody-after with Victoire Weasley). Throw in a bunch of fresh interns, a lot of relationship drama, and one particularly dreamy doctor and it’s bound to be an interesting year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stupid Interns

“So, what’s Shifty up to today?”

 

I grimace and glance over to Eli, my supposed best friend, who seems to think it’s her mission in life to aggravate and embarrass me. Des, my other and occasionally more loyal best friend, is pretending not to listen.

 

“How should I know?” I mutter with a dismissive shrug.

 

“Well, it’s the only plausible explanation for you being so sulky on our first day back,” Eli says. “Shifty gets you moping like nothing else.”

 

I should explain: Ages ago, way back in second year, when we met Teddy Lupin (a first year at the time), Des christened him “That Shape-Shifter Freak.” Apparently, the nickname was too many syllables and it was shortened to “Shifty” in a matter of days. And, somehow, it stuck—all the way through Hogwarts and to our second year of internship at St. Mungo’s. I have incredibly mature friends.

 

“ _Teddy_ ,” I say, eliciting one of Eli’s trademark eye-rolls, “is at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters.”

 

“And why would he be there?” Eli asks. She knows the answer of course—or she would be able to guess. “He graduated last year. Did he get held back to repeat seventh?”

 

“No, he’s seeing off Victoire.” The words felt yanked from me against my will.

 

“Ah,” Bri and Des sigh in unison, identical smirks adorning their faces.

 

The three of us, matching in our hideous lime-green uniforms, finally reach the Healer’s lounge on the fourth floor. Eli often says that the sickening color of the robes is intentional—that that is how we keep patients in the hospital longer. She reckons we ought to have a healthier shade of green, instead of this overwhelming and nasty hue. Her words, not mine. She also thinks that she should make friends with someone from the _Prophet_ so they can write an exposé about the scandal. She’s rather opinionated. Although, I bet her dislike of the uniforms has more to do with how the color really isn’t flattering on the pale, blonde, blue-eyed girl.

 

Then again, it doesn’t work for _anyone_. Actually… back in my fifth-year, Teddy had this phase where he changed his hair color hourly and eventually settled on about the same color as our Healer robes. And, I must say, it didn’t look half-bad on him. Nevertheless, I was just as happy to see his hair back to neutral shades of brown and blonde in a few weeks.

 

The lounge is buzzing with dozens of bright-green-clad Healers and Mediwizards and witches. I swear, they should really dim the lights—it’s enough to make you go blind. Or, at least, wish you were blind.

 

The three of us gather with the other second-year interns, in a corner of the lounge, out of the way of the busy (and important) Healers and other hospital staff. This is our last year of relative unimportance, demonstrated by our continuing lack of a paycheck. For most of our first year we treaded around carefully, terrified of messing up anything—as if lives depended on the paperwork and coffee we carried through the corridors. During the latter part of the year, however, we grew to accept and even embrace our insignificance. We began to live by a mantra that Des coined: only one who doesn’t matter is truly free. And now we might as well tattoo it on our foreheads. We have no intentions of wasting our last year of freedom being cautious. Of course, we will have more responsibilities this year, but we’ll take it as it comes.

 

The other second-years with whom we’ll share these responsibilities are standing around, looking as though they hadn’t slept at all during our month-long holiday. Actually, that’s fairly likely. I had spent the majority of that time with two of them and I can testify that rest wasn’t an objective. Gabryle Kendrick, a small, quirky and unintentionally hilarious ex-Ravenclaw, has reddened eyes behind thin wire-rims.

 

“Hey, Bri, Des, Eli,” he says with a nod to us three ex-Hufflepuffs.

 

“Hey, Gabe.” We nod back at him.

 

“So, you decided to return,” Des notes, grinning.

 

Gabe runs a hand through his thin hair that still manages to fluff up, seemingly naturally. “Yeah, well…”

 

Last night, at a back-to-work party that was admittedly a bad idea, he had made the alcohol-induced decision to quit Healing and pursue professional Wizard’s chess, which I don’t think is even an existing career. But if anyone could make a living at it, Gabe could.

 

Rafa, another witness to Gabe’s announcement, laughs. His full name is Rafael Hugo Nazario, the kind of name that, as Eli once put it, can get a girl pregnant just by hearing it—especially if said in the Spanish transfer’s light and lyrical accent. So, in order to prevent any unwanted pregnancies, Des took to calling him Rafa, and it caught on as all of Des’s nicknames do.

 

The other two second-years are not nearly as fun. Chase Bowe, as ex-Gryffindor, is just sort of a jerk. Maybe I’ll delve into the story later. We call him Cha-Cha, for no particular reason. India Sampson, an ex-Slytherin who is dark both in looks and in personality, is simply a creep. Indie is the unimaginative nickname that’s satisfactory enough, considering none of us wants to spend too much time thinking about her, even for the purpose of giving a nasty moniker.

 

In fact, the only person who earned a truly spiteful nickname is parading through the lounge now, followed by five timid first-year interns.

 

“Here comes the Nazi,” Des mutters. The Nazi, or just the Naz, is more commonly known as Healer Martha Walker. Actually scratch that—most people call her the Naz. She is strict and vicious and I swear has made it her life mission to turn talented youth off the profession of Healing—often by making them cry.

 

The small troupe of newbies appears to have already learned this.

 

Walker sighs, apparently already annoyed, and flips through her clipboard. She glances up at us seven second-years through sparse and bare eyelashes. “Bowe,” she says, looking directly at Chase.

 

“Yes?” he says unsurely.

 

“I’m doing roll-call; please simply say ‘here.’”

 

Eli and I snicker, even though the mistake is understandable: it’s Cha-Cha. He deserves every ounce of ridicule we can manage to put on him.

 

“Kendrick.”

 

“Here,” Gabe says tiredly.

 

“Lyon.”

 

Destin waves his hand, looking bored.

 

“Nazario.”

 

“ _Aquí_!” Eli says excitedly, pointing to Rafa. She always takes the chance to show off her limited and rather unimpressive Spanish vocabulary.

 

Walker is clearly unmoved, and continues to stare blankly until Rafa confirms that he is, in fact, here in English.

 

“Reddor,” she says next.

 

“Present,” Eli says cheerily. “And, not to interrupt, but couldn’t you just count us, see that there are seven, and move on? I mean, considering you’ve known us for a year the whole attendance thing seems unnecessary. And you are certainly very busy—we would hate to waste your time.”

 

“And yet that is what you are doing right now, Miss Reddor. Sampson.”

 

Indie nods sullenly at the Healer and goes back to a careful examination of the black polish on her fingernails.

 

“Schmitt.”

 

“Here,” I say.

 

Walker turns to the new interns. “The second-years will take your attendance and then give you a brief tour of the hospital.” She turns to leave, when Des speaks up.

 

“Wait, Healer Walker—where’s Bertie?”

 

“ _Healer Joyce_ has retired,” she explains, her tone unwelcoming to any follow up questions.

 

“What?!” Eli exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air. My and Des’s reactions are similar to hers.

 

Albert, or Bertie, Joyce was an old Healer at St. Mungo’s, who had been somewhat of a grandpa to us last year. He was wacky and somewhat senile and certainly deserved to retire, but it was still a shock.

 

Walker continues, “He is being replaced by Alec Wright, a Scottish Healer, who is very pleased to be joining the staff at St. Mungo’s.”

 

Eli’s face lights up and I follow her gaze. A tall and undeniably dreamy man appears beside Walker and smiles warmly.

 

“ _Me gustaría estar en sus pantalones*,”_ Eli whispers to me. Rafa, overhearing it, lets out a snort of laughter and rolls his eyes.

 

“ _Yo también*_ ,” I say back to her under my breath.

 

Walker stalks away to inflict her Dementor-esque effect on another area of the hospital, and leaves Wright to us.

 

“Hello,” Eli says, smiling shyly. “Welcome to London. You’ll _love_ St. Mungo’s.” She shakes his hand eagerly. “I’m Elizabeth Reddor, but you can call me Eli.”

 

“She’s totally flirting with him,” Des mutters to me. “Not that I’m surprised, but he’s gotta be in his late thirties.”

 

“He’s probably married,” Rafa adds, checking out the new Healer’s hands as he introduces himself to the rest of the interns.

 

“I don’t see a ring,” I report back, after shaking his hand.

 

“Well,” Eli says after pleasantries have been sufficiently exchanged, “let’s get on with the tour.”

 

As my overly bubbly blond friend proceeds to give Wright a virtually private tour, we trailed him and chatted up the first-years.

 

“Your name is?” Des says to a small girl with auburn hair and freckles.

 

“Um, Emmy Raleigh,” she replies shyly.

 

“Wait,” Des tilts his head to the size and scrutinizes her. The poor girl blushes. “You were a Puff, weren’t you?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I was,” she says brightly. “I recognized you guys.”

 

“Eli, we got a Puff!” he calls.

 

She turns and mouths something rude to him and then smiles at Wright like nothing happened.

 

“So, Em, welcome to St. Mungo’s.”

 

“I prefer to go by Emmy, actually,” she says, appearing a little weirded out by Des. That’s perfectly normal.

 

“See, here’s the thing—” Des begins.

 

I cut him off. He’ll thank me for it later. She’s cute and I could just tell he was about to embarrass himself. How could I tell? His mouth was open. “Des has a memory problem so he has to shorten everyone’s name by at least one syllable in order to remember it. Sorta tragic. Mostly hilarious.”

 

“And completely false,” he adds.

 

“Well, it’s a better story than ‘giving people nicknames makes me look cool.’”

 

Em giggles, and glances over at Des briefly as he defends himself. Oh, yes. He’ll thank me for it.

 

We soon found that the only other newbie that clears the bar is Preston Johnson, an enthusiastic ex-Ravenclaw. The other three first-years are Dominic Streit and Jordan Daniels, both previously Gryffindors, and another Ravenclaw alumni Cameron Mayor.  We decide quickly that Dom is a douche, and J.D. and Cam are too quiet for our liking. But two out of five is an excellent success rate. None of last year’s second-years liked us, so I have to hand it to Em and Pres for making a good impression.

 

After a relatively uneventful first day back, we take Em and Pres out to our favorite Muggle pub in town. We usually go to Muggle pubs because Eli doesn’t want to run into her brother who works at the Ministry—but that’s another story. Anyway, we’ve had fun messing with the Muggles. Don’t worry—nothing _too_ illegal. Eli, Des, Rafa, Gabe and I frequent this joint, and we were here practically every night during our month-long holiday. Due to this (and possibly to some Confunding—Eli’s hand was in her pocket and she was staring intently at the bartender) we score a round of free drinks.

 

“Huzzah!” Des says, like he’s already drunk, and leads us off. The seven of us squeeze into a booth meant for six and get right down to business.

 

“Alright,” Eli begins, cracking her knuckles. “Welcome to the gang. Among the interns there’s two groups. One is us—the ones who are all friends. But we also don’t really have any friends outside of the hospital—”

 

“Except for Teddy,” I mutter. I’m ignored.

 

“—so therefore you are expected to always be available for social gatherings and outings and such.”

 

“Can do,” Pres says agreeably.

 

“Well, I do have friends who are in the Ministry and—” Em begins tentatively.

 

“Not anymore you don’t,” Eli says seriously.

 

“Don’t let her scare you,” Des says. “She can be intimidating, but you just gotta call her bluff.”

 

“You wanna go, Lyon?” Eli says, holding her arms out. “Come at me. Let’s go. Now.”

 

“See?” Des turns to Em. “Bluffing. Besides, _Elizabeth_ , I could take you.”

 

“Now who’s bluffing?” she scoffs as she rolls up her sleeves.

 

Des shrugs off his coat and stands up. “Alright. I’ll prove it then. I don’t bluff, Reddor.”

 

“Guys, guys,” Gabe says. “I’d love to see you two go at it and I’d definitely put some money on Eli, but let’s not resort to violence.”

 

“Yeah, let’s resort to democracy!” Eli says brightly.  “We’ll vote. Who thinks that I could take Des in a fight?”

 

The entire table slowly raises one hand, while looking around uncomfortably. Des sinks back into the booth, defeated.

 

“Now that that’s settled,” Eli continues, flashing a smile at Des, “where was I? Oh, yes, the second group. All the other interns ‘take their job seriously’ and have ‘friends who live in London.’” She makes exaggerated air quotes as she says this. “The only person in this group who specifically matters is Cha-Cha.”

 

“Chase Bowe,” Rafa clarifies. “We hate him.”

 

“And… why is that?” Em asks carefully.

 

“Bri banged him and she’s embarrassed,” Gabe says bluntly, smirking at me over his drink. Everyone snickers while I stammer in defense.

 

“Can I… can I hear this story?” Pres raises his eyebrows and leans in closer.

 

“We won’t tell _anyone_ ,” Em promises, her eyes bright in anticipation.

 

“Oh, fine.” I sigh. My cheeks are burning already. “So, it was my seventh year.”

 

“And she was more in love than ever with Teddy,” Eli interrupts, batting her eyelashes.

 

“Do you want me to tell the story or not?” I ask through clenched teeth.

 

“Go on, please.” She leans back and smiles.

 

“Well, I did think that he liked me, too, and that he might ask me out. But then he started going out with Victoire.”

 

“She was so crushed, so devastated!” Eli exclaims dramatically.

 

“He _was_ a douche about it, though,” Des notes. “Really rubbed it in her face.”

 

“He didn’t know,” I say glumly, actually defending him.

 

“Anyway—she got completely hammered and well…” Eli pauses, stumped. “What happened exactly?”

 

“Well, you guys brought me back to bed, but I left after you’d gone to sleep. I snuck back to the kitchen, but on the way there I ran into Cha-Cha, and, well…”

 

“Broom cupboard, right?” Eli asks.

 

“Yup.” I nod, shuddering slightly.

 

“Did you guys, like, talk first or just get right to it?” Pres asks tentatively.

 

I grimace. “Well, he asked me what was wrong and then I pretty much sobbed on his shoulder for ten minutes.”

 

Pres seems at a loss to understand. “And he still wanted to bone you?”

 

Eli howls with laughter and gave him one of her rare and not-as-coveted-as-she’d-have-you-believe high-fives.

 

“I’m a very pretty crier,” I say, offended. “Besides, that’s his system—he preys on sad, vulnerable girls sneaking around at night.”

 

Pres nods in approval. “Smart bloke.”

 

Eli laughs again. “Oh, come on, Bri—you gotta admire his genius. I mean, it worked on _you_!”

 

“Fair enough,” I grumble.

 

Eli looks wistful for a second before she says, “You know who I’d like to bone in a broom closet?”

 

Des looks up from his drink in horror. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

 

“Alec Wright,” she says, staring off into space, her expression dreamy. “He’s Mr. Right. You know, like Wright, but—”

 

“We all get it,” I say quickly. “Des, nickname him.”

 

“Scotty,” he says without missing a beat. “Because he’s Scottish.”

 

“No, not Scotty—it’s Mr. Right,” Eli protests.

 

“I like Scotty,” I say, shrugging.

 

“Let’s resort to democracy, shall we?” Em says, blushing when Des grins at her. “All in favor?”

 

Everyone except Eli raises a hand.

 

“Scotty it is,” Des says triumphantly.

 

*    *    *

 

We return to our shabby little house in the shady area around St. Mungo’s after midnight. Eli, Des and I pooled our money to buy it after last year, eager to move out of the hospital dorms. It has three bedrooms, but only one bathroom. Yeah, things can get tense.

 

“Well, look who’s here,” Des mutters, nudging me. I glance up to see a figure leaning against our front door.

 

“Teddy!” The smile is impossible to repress. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

 

Eli scoffs, and I ignore her.

 

“Nope, not long at all.” Today his hair is dark and his eyes are emerald. Regardless of how often he changes his look, I can always recognize him. His trademark, the thing that always stays the same, is his feathery, light brown eyelashes. I’ve never pointed this out to anyone, though, least of all Eli… I’d never hear the end of it…

 

I invite him inside. Eli and Des trudge upstairs after a hasty greeting, unenthused as always to see him.

 

“Sorry I can’t offer you much,” I say, embarrassed by the scarcity of snacks and drinks in the kitchen.

 

“Don’t worry about it, I sorta dropped in on you.”

 

I smile as we sit down on the couch in the living room. “What brings you to this part of town?”

 

“The scenery, obviously.”

 

“Should’ve known.”

 

“And the food.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“But, um, I actually came to see you, Bri.” Teddy flashes a sheepish smile and my heart flutters cautiously.

 

“What about?”

 

“I’m kinda down about not being able to see Victoire until the first Hogsmeade weekend. That’s over a month!”

 

Throughout the years of my friendship with Teddy, I’ve become rather good at hiding how frustrated I am at times. “Yeah…”

 

“I’ve never gone that long without seeing her. I already miss her.”

 

“You should write her.” The suggestion sounds sarcastic, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

 

“I already did. But I want to be with her to snuggle and stuff.” He looks like a pouty little kid as he frowns and knits his eyebrows together.

 

It’s really difficult not to roll my eyes, but I manage it. What’s a nice way to say I don’t give a shit? Maybe changing the subject would work… “Well, you can use this time apart to figure out what you want to do with your life, right? What job you want to get…”

 

He shrugs. “Haven’t really thought about that yet.”

 

That’s typical Teddy Lupin. It’s a shame Victoire is a year younger because he seems to be incapable of living his life a step ahead of her. His seventh year was a total waste because he was too busy re-living sixth with his girlfriend. I won’t be surprised if he’s completely paralyzed until she graduates. Then he’ll kick it into high gear and get some high-status, high-paying job.

 

“You did pretty good on the N.E.W.T.s, though, right?”

 

Teddy scoffs. “Not as good as you did! I’m not smart.”

 

No, you don’t _try_. Big difference, kid. Although if you’re as smart as, let’s say, Eli, you don’t have to try. Not too much resentment there.

 

“Well, you have to do something to support yourself,” I point out.

 

“Yeah, I don’t know, I’ll get a job, don’t worry about it.” He sighs, glances at the clock. When I don’t say anything, he continues, “Well, enough about my loser life, what about the Healer in training over here?” He gives my shoulder a friendly little shove.

 

“We just had our first day back. Nothing’s really happened so far to talk about.”

 

“Do you get paid yet?”

 

“No, not until next year. My mom’s still sending me checks, though, because she wants me to ‘focus on my studies’ and not worry about a second job.” I smile to myself, thinking of how frantic Des gets about his part-time clerk job at the Ministry. Eli’s lucky (and rich) enough to live off a trust fund, but most of the interns have to work low-paying jobs to get by. Sometimes we’ll score a research assistant post at the Hospital, which is convenient and infinitely better than serving food.

 

“That’s nice of her,” Teddy says. “Grandma’s threatening to disown me if I don’t get a job soon. I’m ‘bleeding her dry’ apparently…” He shakes his head and continues to grumble to himself.

 

I don’t doubt that.

 

“I’ll help you find one, if you want.” Why did I just say that? I know how picky he’ll to be… “Destin works at the Ministry, and they almost always have some sort of opening.” Des will hate me for bringing him into this. Why do consequences seem of such little importance around this guy?

 

“Yeah, maybe, thanks.” His brief smile leaves his face too quickly. Fine by me if he doesn’t need my help. It stings a little though, if we’re being honest. “Hey, I’m gonna run now. Sorry for dropping in on you.”

 

“It’s fine. Bye.”

 

It’s the goodbye hugs that are the worst. I temporarily forget what an imperceptive, self-absorbed git he can be and only think about how warm he is and how tall he is and how much I like my face pressed against his chest.

 

“Bye, Bri. Thanks.” His sincere smile is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. He closes the door and I hear him Disapparate.

 

Why do I feel like crying?


End file.
